


Rewriting Memories

by crayonbreakygal



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 18:05:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11362779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonbreakygal/pseuds/crayonbreakygal
Summary: Sherlock misjudged.  Can he recover this time?  Takes place after season four.





	1. He Misjudged

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place after the end of season four. It is not for faint-hearted and there are many trigger warnings, so if this is not your thing, you now know.

Rewriting Memories

Chapter One—He Misjudged

He misjudged.  Oh how he had misjudged.  There was always something he missed.  Luckily he was the only one paying for it. He’d sacrifice anything, everything if it was just him that was punished.

“Oh, Sherlock.  Always miss something, don’t you?”

He growled at the figure directly in front of him. The punch was not unexpected, only the fact they’d waited this long. 

“Just the body, not the face.”

One to the face.

“Oh well,” the figure in front of him said.

Sherlock had been tortured before, so this was nothing, for the moment.  He knew it would get worse, much worse before he started to feel it.

The punches were punishing, brutal even.  He could take it, for a while. He could take it. They left him hanging against the wall, chains dragging him down, not letting him rest. 

It started up again the next morning, with a break for lunch.  His tormentors actually took a break for lunch, right in front of him.  They threw him a few scraps, which he ate because he didn’t know the next time it would be before they realized he might starve to death.  Then they’d start up again.  It was almost surgical the places where they’d work. One side, then the other, one leg, then the other.  He had bruises upon bruises.

Once they were done for the night, he could slip into oblivion, attempt to heal if just a little. This went on for more than a week until they gave him a day off.

That’s when they stuck her in the same cell where he presided. He had no idea who she was and why she was there.  By the looks of it, she had been worked over also. She whimpered as she lay on the ground.  They hadn’t even bothered to chain her up.

“Listen to me. You need to get up.  Maybe, maybe if we work together, we can get out of here.”

The woman didn’t move.

“Dammit, wake up.”

She did, turning her bruised face his way.  Underneath all the grime and cuts, she was pretty. Intelligence blazed in her bright blue eyes. She was educated, that he knew.  Her blonde hair, turned dingy from not washing it for weeks, lay crusted to her head.  Her clothes hung on her body, probably because of next to no nourishment for a significant amount of time.  He concluded that he probably looked the same, although a few days prior, one of the guards took pity on him, or possibly didn’t want to smell him anymore and threw a large bucket of water on him.

“Go away.”

“I need your help.”

“Leave me be.”

“Dammit.  We can help each other.”

She wasn’t moving. It wasn’t long before his captors came back in.

“Brought you a playmate,” the man hissed.

Wrenching her up by her hair, the woman moaned in pain, but didn’t fight the rough treatment.

“Isn’t she pretty?  Kind of like your Molly, but not. I can’t seem to find her or I would have brought her to you instead.”

“What do you want with her?  Let her go. She’s nothing.”

“Oh, I do believe she’s more than just nothing.”

Why hadn’t he believed the video?  That Moriarty was still alive? There was no way the man had survived that self-inflicted gunshot to the head. 

Only he hadn’t. The man in front of him was related to Moriarty, had the same coloring, hair was black, eyes were dark and menacing.  Only he was a bit rounder, mouth a different shape. He moved differently than Jim Moriarty, not as sleek and dangerous.  A bit of a klutz.  It was hard to see in the dim light and the fact that one of Sherlock’s eyes was swollen shut from a series of punches to his face not two days prior.

“She’s your undoing.”

“I don’t know her.  Just let her go.  You’ve proven your point.  Take me instead.”

“Oh, I’ll take you, in time. And I’ll take her, now.”

Oh god, no.  Sherlock thought the man just wanted to torture him with blows to his body.

“Think of poor Jim, on that rooftop. Think of your poor little Molly, wherever she is. Because when I find her, I will do the exact same thing to her.  Remember that.”

Sherlock strained against his bonds, hoping that somehow he’d managed to loosen them over time.  They felt as tight as ever.

The man, whatever his name really was, stripped the woman down to nothing. She squealed a bit as he did this, finally starting to put up a fight. One of his henchmen, the one that usually delivered most of the blows, held Sherlock’s head up just in case he didn’t want to look.  The headlock was almost cutting off his circulation, but not quite.

Yanking down his pants just enough, the man roughly entered her.  She screamed and screamed until the man cuffed her hard against the side of her head.

“Now, now. None of that. Here.  Let’s give you something to do.”

Sherlock almost gagged at the smell of unwashed bodies and sex that permeated the air.  The blood that oozed from both of them made him want to throw up.  He usually wasn’t that squeamish, but now he was. Oh god, he was.

“If you don’t stay still, I’ll have her bite it off.”

Bite it off? What in blazes?

The hulk behind him wrenched Sherlock’s pants down just enough.

“No,” Sherlock yelled, imagining what they were going to do next to him.

“If you’re not still, I’ll just go ahead and cut it off.”

He flashed a knife in front of Sherlock’s face to warn him.

“Now, sweetie. I do believe that Mr. Holmes needs to be serviced.  Might make her a bit quieter, don’t you think?”

Was Moriarty ever this depraved?  He certainly hated Sherlock beyond comprehension. He thought that it was always a game though, one that he always wanted to win.  There were always undertones of sexual aggressiveness about Jim, but never torture. It was about himself and Moriarty, never anyone else.  He even seemed a bit jealous of his and John’s friendship.

The woman bent low only to be wrenched up by her hair.

“Open wide.”

He just hoped that she didn’t bite.  She seemed too far gone to do much of anything other than wriggle a bit. The man behind still held firm, not letting Sherlock move much at all.

“Will you look at that?  Can still get it up.”

Sherlock willed away his erection, but with the woman’s mouth moving up and down, he just couldn’t.  The man behind her entered again, this time a bit slower, but still making her wince with pain.

“Is it good for you?”

Sherlock struggled against his bonds, but couldn’t break free.  There was no way he’d finish like this, he hoped.  The man behind her pushed her head down, helping her move up and down with the yanking of her hair.  He couldn’t even escape into his own mind while this was going on. His only focus was to not come, which was becoming more difficult as time went on.

“And for the finale.”

The man behind her finished with a flourish, pulling out of her, coating her back with his juices as he did.

“Come on.  You gotta work harder than that. Sherlock, give the girl a break. You don’t come, she’ll die.”

If he could, he’d reach over and strangle the man with his bare hands.  This was degrading, torture, rape, anything and everything to get him to submit to him and the girl to submit to him.

Sherlock’s eyes glazed over, hoping that he could comply with the man’s wishes.  He’d attempt to save her life any way he could.

“Uh, eyes open, Mr. Holmes.”

Staring off at a point in the horizon, Sherlock thought of Molly, how much she cared about him and how little he shared with her.  That would change once he was able to free himself.  He saw her smile, how she laughed at her own jokes, how she looked in her ridiculous jumpers, how she’d looked at his Christmas party those many years ago.

He could feel the orgasm start, gather speed and finally happen as he imagined what it would be like to have her lips around him, red like they were, with that silly bow in her hair.

“Time’s up.”

The man reached around, dragged her back against his chest and drew a knife across her throat, slashing it as he did. Blood spirted everywhere, including all over the front of Sherlock. The light in her eyes, glazed over with pain and shame, slid shut as the man laughed behind her.

Sherlock growled, fought as much as he could.

“No. You said.”

“I didn’t say a word.  She’s just a tool, nothing.  Just like your little Molly.  Oh how I’d love to see her do the same thing. Wouldn’t you like that?  Is that where you went right at the moment?”

“I will kill you,” Sherlock choked out, brain becoming hazy from the pressure on his throat.

“Not today. Today is not a good day to die.  I will burn the heart out of you, Holmes.”

Just like Moriarty to say.  Just like that.

“Is that what Jim said, as he stuck that revolver into his mouth?  Just like him.  I don’t have that God complex he seemed to have.  And I don’t wanna die.  Just want to see you suffer.”

The blow to the head was welcome if it could make him pass out sooner. Only it didn’t.  They beat him until they bored of it. The corpse of the girl still lay to the side, like she was forgotten in their frenzy to exact revenge on him. Her eyes were still open just a bit, staring off, damning him into hell.  She’d been taken just because of him, just to be used as a tool.

She still lay there a few more days until his captors started to complain about the smell. 

“I thought she was keeping Sherlock company, with her being dead and all.”

Only there wasn’t enough time to take her away before the commotion started.  A few gunshots, then stomping, then banging, more gunshots coming closer.  Sherlock was in denial, hoping that he’d finally snapped and was enacting a rescue in his head, if just to keep himself busy.  By that time, he was nearly naked, bruise upon bruise, shallow cuts all over his body. The bigger man, the one that always held him, had tried to take liberties with him the night before and stopped when his leader found him ready to pound into Sherlock. At that point, Sherlock had shut down, not really knowing what was happening.

“That’s on tomorrow’s agenda. Come on. I have something better to give you.”

Sherlock watched as the two of them fucked each other against the wall, the younger, bigger man being handled by his tormentor. 

“See how big he is. It’s gonna be good.”

A punch and a kick later and they were gone. They never came back that night and now by the sounds of what was going on outside the door, hopefully they never would.

“Sherlock,” he heard, probably dreaming he told himself.

“Where is he?”

Sherlock was now face down in the dirt, if just to not smell what was over in the corner. Dirt was better than nothing.

The door flew open, voices in the corridor now, many voices.

“Jesus, doc,” the voice yelled.

Sherlock could not move. He was dreaming.

“Oh my god, Sherlock. He’s breathing,” someone said directly over him.

The cuffs dug into his wrists the way he was lying, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact that he didn’t have to look into the dead girl’s eyes this way.

“We need an ambulance, blankets, now,” he heard off in the distance.

“Oh god the smell.”

“How long?”

“Looks as if she’s been dead for a few days.”

More voices. A blanket was placed across his body now, providing a bit of warmth.

“We have to move you.  Get these damn cuffs off him. Now.”

Someone brought in a pair of cutters. Sherlock still did not move.

“He’s breathing. Sherlock, can you hear me?”

Sherlock remembered the pain from the gunshot wound vividly, how Molly told him he’d either die from the pain of being shot or from bleeding out before they’d get him to surgery. Where was she? He’d tried to call her up, to save him, but she was nowhere to be found?  Why had she abandoned him?

“Just rest now.  We’re here,” he heard her say in his brain.

His body started to shake uncontrollably.  He pulled himself into a fetal position, the shaking getting worse. Letting out a cry of pain, he wailed until he felt a needle enter his arm. Strong arms gripped him, almost like the ones that held him as he was being assaulted. He wailed even louder at the touch.

“John, let go of him.”

“He’s going to hurt himself, Greg.”

“Mate, I think it’s making it worse. Just ease off.”

The strong grip lessened then on his arms. He still shook, but not as much as before.

“Oh Sherlock, I am so sorry.”

He passed out soon after, the effects of whatever they’d given him finally pulling him under.


	2. Let Me Go

Chapter Two—Let Me Go

“Sherlock, dear. Are you there? We’re all so worried.”

Sherlock awoke in a soft bed, lights dim, monitors beeping off in the distance.  His arms were restrained, to keep him in place, his legs the same.  Why had they done this to him? He wanted to leave.

“Let me go,” he managed to get out, turning his head toward the voice.

“Oh dear. Let me get the doctor.”

“Let me go,” he shouted now, wrenching on the restraints.

“You stay right there.”

The figure moved off, out the door. He pulled and pulled, but could not get out of the restraints.

“You’re awake,” he heard from the door. “Let’s take a look at you.”

“Let me go.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that yet.  You’ve already tried to leave.  It’s for your own good.”

“Let me go,” he shouted, hearing off in the distance the loud beeps of the monitors.

“No more drugs.  Let me go,” he struggled to say.

“Oh my god, what are you doing?” another voice shouted from the door.

“It’s for his own good. He needs to heal.”

“He’s fragile.”

“He took out a nurse the last time.”

Sherlock still pulled at his restraints.

“Let me go, let me go,” he now cried.  “I promise I’ll be good. Just let me go.”

The tears started to flow.  He didn’t care how he got out of there, only that he needed to not be held down any more.

“It’s alright. I’m here.  It’s alright.”

The soft, soothing voice calmed him until he drifted off, back into the oblivion he’d created in his mind. Off into a dream state where he’d be safe.

\----

Molly couldn’t seem to stop crying as she looked down at Sherlock lying in that hospital bed.  They’d taken to restraining him for his own good, they said.  She most certainly did not agree with their assessment and was trying desperately to get him transferred somewhere else to tend to his needs.  Even Mycroft had agreed there had to be something better.

Only her voice seemed to calm him somewhat. She was staying almost all the time now since he’d been found. To see him straining against being held down, his neck muscles popping out, the sweat on his brow, the wild look in his eyes as he did, it all broke her heart. What had they done to him? Sure, she could see all the physical things that had been done to his body. What had they done to his mind?

He’d gone into his mind palace possibly, to be protected from what was happening to him.  What she didn’t understand from Mycroft was the fact that he had been tortured before and had survived pretty much intact. Why was this happening now? It was more than just physical torture that had been done to him? He’d been gone for weeks before there was a lead in finding him.  Mycroft had spirited her away, along with baby Rosie. Whoever had kidnapped Sherlock had shown their hand, telling the rest of the world that they were all in danger, especially anyone close to Sherlock.  Molly had refused to be locked up as did John, but they all insisted that Molly and Mrs. Hudson be taken in for their own good. After fighting, yelling, and begging that she might be needed, she agreed if just to help out with Rosie in the end.  John stuck close to Lestrade, who in turn had his whole team stick close also.  Everyone knew that Sherlock worked with Anderson, Donovan and a few of the others. It wouldn’t hurt to make sure everyone was safe.  Anyone remotely associated with Sherlock was either watched or taken to a safe house just in case.  Only they’d missed someone.

“She didn’t even know him,” John yelled at Lestrade in his office that same day.

“But she knew us, dammit. Fucking receptionist. He didn’t even give her the time of day much less know her name.”

Lestrade leaned into his hands, elbows braced on his desk. John paced the office, hands wiping his face back and forth, like he was trying to make it all go away.  Molly watched from Sally’s desk as the two of them discussed what to do next. She had insisted on visiting both of them, if just to get out of the hospital for a bit. Mycroft was there to look out for Sherlock at that point, to give her a break.

“That’s who, that’s who she was,” Molly whispered to Sally.

“Yeah.  Fuckers. Not right.  She was innocent.”

“Yeah. Not right.”

“We’ll catch them and set this right.”

Molly wasn’t so sure that would happen without Sherlock’s help and he was definitely out of commission for a long while.  Both Greg and John kept looking at her though, like they wanted her to join them.

“We really have gotta get him to join the living,” Greg said just loud enough for Molly to hear.

“I’ve tried. He literally screams when he hears me. This is bad, Greg.  Bad.”

Molly couldn’t take it any longer and marched into Greg’s office.

“Ok, what do we need to do? Right now. What do we need to do to end this?”

They both looked at her, not knowing what to say or do.

“You need Sherlock to get out of his head?  You need his help on this?”

“I’ve got nothing, Molly,” Greg admitted.

“He’s really messed up, Molly.  What if we push too hard?”

“Push too hard?  He was tortured, probably raped. Not sure if you can push any harder than that.”

Both men gasped out her confession. Neither one had wanted to say what had happened to Sherlock out loud, but knew exactly what could have happened to him in those few weeks.

“He’ll want whoever did this and whoever killed that girl gone. He needs to come back to us.”

“Molly’s right. You’re so bloody right,” John agreed.

“I’ve never seen him like this.  I’ve never seen anyone like this and I’ve seen way too much in my time.  They destroyed him,” Greg added.

“Then let’s get him back,” she begged the two.

“How?” Lestrade asked them.

“I have a few ideas,” Molly told them.

“So do I. Might need Mycroft’s help. He’s not gonna like it.”

“Fuck him if he doesn’t.”

Both men’s eyes opened wide with her crass statement.

“Know you were both thinking the same thing.”

“Yeah,” John said to her as he led her out of the office.

“Gotta go save the bastard again,” Lestrade complained as they walked out of the office.

“Anything you need,” Sally called after him.

Sally Donovan willing to help out Sherlock?  When had that relationship changed?  After Eurus had almost taken them all down?  Before that?  They’d all been through the ringer and then some.


	3. Caught Inside His Head

Chapter Three—Caught Inside His Head

She swung her legs, back and forth, back and forth on the swing, for what seemed like ages.  He was getting bored watching her do it. What else was there to do?

“I can do this all day.”

“I have no doubt that you could.”

“So why?”

“Why what?”

“Why have me do this all day?”

“It’s calming.”

Mary laughed his way.

“Calming?  My legs are tired.”

“Keep going.”

“No.”

Mary jumped off the swing and walked over to where he sat.

“Leave me be.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not here, remember?  Just a construct of your imagination.”

“I’m not so sure of that.”

“Just like you’re not so sure of anything.”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, now there it is.”  Mary smiled down at him.  “You’ll need more of that.”

“More cursing?”

“More fighting.”

“I’m done.”

“Nope.”

“Do not tell me what to do.”

Taking his head in her hands gently, her eyes pinned him to the spot where he’d taken up residence. She raked his curls back like he was a small child.  He hated when his mother had done that to him.

“What to do? Oh, sweetie.  I’m the only one who will. Until Molly gets her wits about her.”

“Leave Molly out of this.”

Mary abruptly stood up, taking her hands away from him. He missed the warmth from her hands, her eyes.

“She’s saves you, every time.”

“Not this time.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I’ll not let her.”

“You’ve no choice in the matter.”

No one but he and John had known that Mary was nurturing. She’d sometimes ruffle his hair when she was alive, or grab his hand and squeeze to give him encouragement.  At first, he just frowned back at her, since no one had ever taken to touching him, much less giving him encouragement unless it was John.   And John was sometimes just too in awe of him or pissed off beyond belief.

“I’ll protect you as much as I can.”

Sherlock looked away from her, not wanting her to see the look on his face.

“But you have to wake up.”

“I, I can’t.”

“You can. I know you can.”

She wrapped him up in a hug, arms and hands against the back of his head, face near buried in her chest.  And no, it wasn’t sexual at all, although she did have an impressive chest in his opinion, not that he’d let John ever know that.

His body wanted to moan and scream against her, but all he could do was weep. When had he turned into a weeping mess? This was not him, at all. He didn’t do feelings, he didn’t cry, he didn’t make himself this vulnerable.

“I want to stay here.”

“You can’t.  You can come visit on occasion.”

As he looked up at her, she wiped away a tear that had started to fall. A fierce kiss to his forehead followed her dragging her fingers one more time through his hair. He gasped for breath, caught up in her tenderness, only to find him back in his hospital room, alone.

 


	4. If She Could Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Narrative of what was done to Sherlock. Just a warning.

Chapter Four—If She Could Help

“No. Under no circumstances is that warranted.”

“If we can figure out how to bring him out of whatever trance or state he’s in.”

“I cannot allow any of you. Dammit, you know as well as I do how risky that could be.”

“If she could help, Mycroft, would she?” Molly asked.

John well knew how dangerous Eurus Holmes was, almost dying at her hands just because he happened to be Sherlock’s best friend.

“She’s warmed to him, but she still has not spoken a word since the incident.”

“The incident? That’s what you’re calling…  Mycroft.  We all know she’s one of the most dangerous people in the world. But she knew, with precision, how to take Sherlock down in five minutes.  Five fucking minutes.”

“There’s no need to get testy.”

They all sat around a makeshift table that had been set up in the room adjoining where Sherlock was now lying.  They could watch him while not actually being in the same room as he was.

“We also need to speak about the body.”

“She has a name, Mycroft.”

Lestrade clenched his hands tight, like he wanted to throw a punch Mycroft’s way.  John really did not want to hear what was done to the poor girl, since he was there when they’d found Sherlock.  It wasn’t pretty or nice or peaceful. She’d died very violently, probably directly in front of Sherlock if he had to guess.

“I am sorry, Greg.”

Mycroft just called Lestrade Greg?

“No. Just, go on with it.”

“Dr. Hooper, are you sure you want to hear this?”

“If you had let me perform the autopsy in the first place.”

Molly looked to be ready to burst. Maybe he needed to watch to see if she’d throw a punch Mycroft’s way. The Holmes brothers and their way of dealing with everyone else elicited frustration to the nth degree.

“I do not think it was wise then nor would it have been wise now, Molly.”

This has to be bad, John thought.  Mycroft was using each of their first names, softening his voice. He was learning, as was Sherlock.  John was just imagining what he had to say.  Only the next few minutes, he couldn’t even imagine, and didn’t want to imagine what had happened to his best friend in that dark and disgusting room.

“Molly, are you sure?”

“John, it’s my job,” she ground out.

“Ms. Joyner passed away…”

“Was murdered,” Lestrade added.

“Was murdered approximately three days before you rescued Sherlock.  Her body was left in the room unfortunately.”

“For Sherlock to see,” Molly said.

“Yes, apparently.  She died,” Mycroft cleared his throat.  “Her throat was cut. She bled out in minutes.”

“A mercy?” John murmured.

“No mercy.  I wish it had been. Her body, while alive, had been subjected to numerous beatings.  Her arm was broken in three places, ribs cracked, several burn marks on her torso, pinky broken on her left hand.  Concussion, contusions all over her body. On her back were several lash marks, probably made by some kind of whip.”

Molly had taken to looking down at the table, her hands spread wide, like she was trying to anchor herself for the rising tide.

“Sexually assaulted?” Molly asked.

“Yes, several times it looks.  We’ve taken samples of everything we could. Blood, semen, skin.”

Oh damn, even Mycroft was getting paler by the minute. What had they found on that poor woman’s body that had him so upset? Mycroft turned and got up out of his seat to look at Sherlock.

“We also took samples from Sherlock, everything we could find that might help.”

John knew where this might be headed. He just wished that Molly wasn’t in the same room to hear this.

“Was he raped?” Molly finally got out.

“Inconclusive,” Mycroft answered.

“Inconclusive? What the hell?” Greg said as he made his way to Mycroft.

“Greg. Wait,” John said as he stood up also.

“The deceased’s blood was found all over that room, the floor, the walls, Sherlock.”

“So she was killed right in front of him.”

How was Molly the only one in the room that was still holding it together at that point?  John just wanted to punch a wall, break some glass, and possibly shoot someone.  Molly wasn’t scared in the least.  She was angry, pissed, more than he’d ever seen her, even after seeing her slapping Sherlock while he was at his lowest.

“Yes,” Mycroft panted out.

What John had realized in dealing with Mycroft Holmes was his brother’s safety was always his priority, no matter what the cost.  Sherlock had been damn lucky when he’d killed Magnussen that he wasn’t put away for good. If it hadn’t been for Mycroft, he would have been.  And having dealt with Mycroft in all the business with Eurus, he now knew the man’s biggest weakness was his brother.

“He couldn’t have. He just…”

“He didn’t rape her. Sherlock, there’s no way,” Molly concluded, pounding her hands onto the table.

“No way,” John swallowed, bile rising in his throat.

“We’ve only been able to identify…”

Before Mycroft could finish his findings, which by the way things were going probably would take the rest of the afternoon, Molly went running from the room.  Had she had enough of Mycroft?  Only when he turned to look at where she was going, he saw what she’d seen.  Sherlock was literally straining against his bonds, and had broken one of them. If he wasn’t stopped, he’d be out in mere seconds.

“Oh fuck,” he heard Greg shout.

 ----

Molly couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  Mycroft’s findings must be wrong. There was no way Sherlock would ever violate another being.  She knew that with all her heart that he’d never do that.  If he was assaulted too, then that she could believe. How could he come back from that?  How? He’d been there when the poor person had died, right in front of him.  Body fluids were everywhere, hers, his, the attackers.

She watched through the glass, watching him sleep whatever deep sleep he’d put himself into, hoping against hope that they’d get him to wake up.  He was usually strong physically and mentally, but after Mary dying, his drug use and Eurus, he was run down, physically and mentally. It probably should have taken him months, years to heal from that. It had only been weeks, mere weeks since it had happened.

She herself was not getting much sleep, between making sure that Rosie and Mrs. Hudson were alright and helping out John, and it all was coming to a head.  Thank goodness Mycroft had seen in the end that putting his parents and the other two in one place where no one could find them was the answer for now.  Even her body was attempting to shut down, not getting enough sleep or enough nutrients. Caffeine and cat naps it had been.

Oh, Sherlock, she wanted to cry out.  This was so unfair to him. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement in his room, hair moving just slightly. He moved in his sleep sometimes, crying out. He’d only awoken a few times, attempting to get out of his restraints, but never coherent enough.  The doctors at first had sedated him so that he couldn’t escape.  Now they were scaling back his medications, at both her and John’s behest.  They couldn’t keep him drugged forever. She watched as he formed a fist, straining against the restraint. Now that was new.  He usually just thrashed for a bit, then settled down. No, this was deliberate.  Then she saw him literally slide his hand out of the restraint. Someone had untightened one of them just enough. Molly ran.

He’d managed to get out of three of them before she even stepped foot into the room, the fourth one flying off before the door was closed. The IV and other lines going into him were ripped out.  My god that must have hurt, she thought, but as she could tell, he wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind right then.

“Sherlock, no. You’ll hurt yourself.”

He looked wildly around the room, at nothing in particular, like he wasn’t really seeing where he was.

“Sherlock, please.”

“Let me go,” he finally cried out.

He backed away from her, to the wall on the opposite side of the room.

“Sherlock, we’re here.  It’s ok.”

John had obviously seen her take off and followed directly behind her, followed by Greg, then Mycroft.

“Greg, make sure.”

“Got it. Not going anywhere.”

“I have to go.  Just let me go.”

“You’re safe, Sherlock,” Molly urged him to believe.

“Not safe. None of you are safe.”

He twisted his head back and forth, up and down. He sometimes did things like this when he was trying to solve a particularly hard case, pointing, waving, like he had his own blackboard in his mind, wiping away things that didn’t matter and keeping things that did.  Now he was just swatting at random things in the air.

“It’s just, he took…”

“He took what? What did he take?” John asked, hoping that would help.

“Everything,” Sherlock yelled back.

Molly had seen the tapes of what had happened to Sherlock with Eurus.  Mycroft thought it prudent with all that was happening with him now to show them to her. This was so much like what Eurus had gone through, she thought.  Eurus had thought that everything had been taken from her, her family, her freedom. Only he was not Eurus.

“We’re here, Sherlock. He couldn’t, didn’t take us. He can never take us away from you,” Molly urged in a gentle voice.

Slowly she walked toward him, hoping that he wouldn’t lash out at her.  He’d actually injured an orderly while he was fighting to get away the first time, which was why he’d been moved to this private facility.

“What do you want me to do about him? What can we do about him?”

Sherlock stopped looking all around and focused, focused on her. He looked a lot like he had when he’d been using drugs the last time, hair wild, beard, eyes sunken in, smudges pronounced under his eyes. But this was worse, much worse.

“What do you need?”

Sherlock’s head shot up, looking her directly in the eyes.  She’d said this phrase to him several times.

“From me? What do you need?”

“You.”

It was almost like she’d slapped him to get his attention.

“Then you can have me.”


	5. Needs Must

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the speculation of what Moriarty and Eurus talked about in those five minutes..... We all could write volumes on that.

Chapter Five—Needs Must

“I do not believe this is a good idea.”

John sighed at Mycroft for the fifth time in the last ten minutes.  It most certainly was a very bad idea from what he knew of Eurus. Maybe he and Molly were grasping at straws.  Eurus knew Sherlock, knew exactly how to hit him, how to bring him to his knees.

“She hasn’t said a word since Sherlock…”

“Since he figured out what happened?  Mycroft, did you even think that maybe your plan was a bad idea?”

“Needs must.”

“I call bullshit.  You put someone in a prison cell with no physical contact for years, no one to talk to, nothing to do, what did you expect?”

“I was protecting…”

“I know you were protecting Sherlock, Mycroft. I know.”

John paced around the conference table, exactly like he’d done not more than a handful of weeks prior.  It had made him ill to take that helicopter ride, to step foot onto this desolate place where people had been murdered, if just to make a point.

“Let me talk to her.”

Both men turned abruptly and shouted at her.  “No!”

Molly flinched a bit at both of them, then stood tall.

“You see, right there, Molly.  The least little thing, she will tear you to shreds.”

Oh how Molly had changed since he’d first known her. Gone was the mousy, delicate girl whom he felt was possibly the smartest person in the room.  Now she showed it, shown her true colors of how intelligent and strong she was. She’d need that if she was going to help Sherlock. Not at the expense of her own sanity though.  He never wanted to see her crumble, especially if it was for Sherlock.

“There is nothing else she can do to me, John. She knows all my secrets. I don’t matter.”

“But you do matter,” John urged.

He wished that Mycroft would actually help him convince her that it should be himself instead of Molly to speak to Eurus. 

“You do matter, Dr. Hooper.  If you had not, Eurus most certainly would not have gone after you the way she did.  Not only did she want to destroy Sherlock, she wanted you to know that you meant nothing to him.  He proved her wrong in the end.”

“Those were just words,” she told the two.  “They don’t matter now. What matters is Sherlock.”

“Watch it again,” John stated, hands now crossed in front of him. “Watch what she did to him.”

“I’m not sure.”

“I was there.  Remember, I was there.”

John turned so that Molly could not see how upset that he was.  Remembering what he’d told Sherlock a few weeks before they’d confronted Eurus, that he needed to find love to complete him as a human, this in his mind was the first step. Sherlock was not serious about The Woman.  He was afraid to even text her, for goodness sake.  Molly was there, always there, to comfort, to sooth, to help, to laugh.  He never completely pushed her away, although there were times when John thought she’d run from the things that Sherlock spat out at her.

As they watched the recording yet again, he could feel the intensity in Molly’s gaze as she watched what had transpired. 

“She knew about me,” Molly started as the scene played out in front of her. “How?”

“One of her many forays into the real world I suspect.”

“Yet Jim Moriarty never saw it.  He went after you first, John.”

“Right.”

He had no idea where Molly was going with her statements.

“Mycroft, you said that all Eurus wanted was for Sherlock to be hers.”

“They were so close in age, I thought she meant she wanted Sherlock to be her best friend.”

“But she went after me, while Moriarty went after John.  What did we miss?  I think the key is those five minutes. We must know what she told Moriarty.”

Molly’s eyes shifted up and down, focusing on Eurus at the exact moment that Sherlock said those three words back to her.

“I suspect it was to hurt John,” Mycroft added.

“Possibly.  You too, Mycroft. She most definitely would want you hurt.”

Mycroft colored just a bit under Molly’s scrutiny.

“I know what she told him.”

“What Eurus said to Moriarty?”

The look on Molly’s face was determination and resolve.  If anyone would save Sherlock from whatever fate he’d told himself in his mind, then it was Molly Hooper.

“No, what she said to him all those years ago.  Sherlock only deletes things in his mind palace that he deems unnecessary.  A whole solar system?  Who forgets that?  His sister kills his best friend and he forgets it?”

“I will burn the heart out of you,” John gasped out.  “That’s what he said, Moriarty, at the swimming pool.”

“He was there.  Oh god, he must have been there, when she did it.”

Tears escaped now, flowing freely down Molly’s face.

“Oh dear god. I never even thought.  How she manipulated him, even at that age.”

“I have to talk to her,” Molly’s low voice cracked.

“He’s trying to rewrite his brain again, just like he did when he was young.”

And John thought he had problems with seeing Mary sometimes in his mind.

Save Sherlock Holmes rattled around in his brain.  Mary had said to save him. Now it was time for John to save his best friend.  No way would he be able to rewrite his brain on this one. He would spend the rest of his days inside his mind.  Why would he want to, although he could see the merits on forgetting that it ever happened?


	6. Run As Fast As You Can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, writing Eurus is so difficult.

Chapter Six—Run As Fast As You Can

Run, run, faster, faster. They’ll catch you, do to you unspeakable things. Run, Sherlock, run.

He was running through a forest, somewhat like the one in Serbia where he’d been caught that one time when he was hunting down Moriarty’s network.  Only he wasn’t the only one running. Molly, John, Mycroft, Lestrade.

Bombs now started to fall, started to strafe the area. He heard a scream to the side, a faint whine, then nothing.

“Keep running,” he heard Mary say beside him.

“I have to save them.”

“Keep running,” she urged him again, pushing him on in front of her.

He watched off in the distance as he saw Molly weave in and out of the trees, trying to escape the onslaught. Lestrade had already disappeared near one detonation.  Mycroft was now nowhere to be found.

“Molly,” he screamed, but she still ran.

Something was holding her back, slowing her down more than the others. Shifting over to the left, he managed to almost catch up with her until another bomb blast shook the ground, throwing him to the side to crash into the bushes.  A horrible scream dug into his skull, bringing him back up to his feet as fast as he could.

“Keep running,” Mary begged him again.

“Molly,” he yelled, spotting her off in the distance.

“No, it’s too late.”

When he finally reached the small clearing that Molly had run to, he noticed that she leaned over, cradling something in her arms. Molly sobbed as she held the bundle tight to her.

“We have to go,” he said to her as he pulled on her arm.

As he looked down, he saw what or whom she’d been carrying.

“Forget her. You have to go,” Mary whispered in his ear.

“Molly?”

The fragile body of little Rosie lay in Molly’s arms, blood everywhere.

“I couldn’t save her,” Molly wailed.

“You must forget her,” Mary told him.

“I will burn the heart out of you.”

Sherlock had dropped to his knees beside Molly, to look down to see if there was something he could do to save poor Rosie.  Looking up, he saw a little girl standing not three feet from him.

“No,” Molly yelled back at the girl.

\---- 

Sherlock yelled no for twenty minutes before they could subdue him again.  John kept thinking they could wean him off whatever the doctors had used to keep him quiet.  Now he wasn’t so sure.

“This is not a good idea,” he warned Molly as she came back into the room from attempting to quiet Sherlock again.

“Do you have a better one?”

“If she escapes, the whole world could know her wrath.”

“Then we get her to focus on this and this only.”

“I hope you’re right.”

The smudges under Molly’s eyes were dark now, much darker than they had been after Mary had died.  Her hands shook from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. He had tried relieving her for a few hours, but she wasn’t having it at all.  Eurus had to work, had to help them solve what was going on in Sherlock’s mind or all would be lost.  Molly went back to Sherlock, parking herself in the chair beside his bed.

 ----

John looked up as the door to the room next to Sherlock’s opened.  He hadn’t expected to see Eurus walk in, but he saw no other way to get her to see her brother.  The five strong men guarding her had their weapons at the ready, in addition to the tasers pointed her way. 

“Dr. Watson,” Eurus said as she looked around the room.

“You know why you’re here.”

He most certainly did not want to get into a match of wits with her. The fact he knew he’d lose and possibly die made him wary of her.

“My dear brother,” she answered, looking through the window.

“She’s talking?” John mouthed to Mycroft as he stood directly in front of the door.

“Yes, she’s talking,” Eurus replied, hands ghosting over the glass that separated her from Sherlock.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his body tightly.

“I have explained to my sister our dilemma.”

“They hurt him. Why?”

John turned his head, gesturing to Mycroft whether either one of them should answer.

“Moriarty,” Mycroft answered shortly.

“Dead. Right?”

“Yes. Now what can…” John started to ask hesitantly.

“He is weak.”

Mycroft stood at attention now, arms at his sides.  “Eurus, you said…”

“No, no.  You misunderstand. Not Sherlock. Never Sherlock.”

John frowned back at Mycroft, not comprehending her thought processes.

“The man. Who did this.  Weak. Too weak.  Weak in the flesh, in the mind, the soul.”

“Is there anything…” John inquired, knowing he might not get a straight answer.

“Let me find him.”

“Find who?” Mycroft asked.

“The bad guy, you silly.  And Sherlock. Let me find him. He’s lost.”

Eurus jumped as she watched Sherlock rage against his bonds yet again.

“I have to find him. She can help me.”

Molly had entered their view to calm him, hands stroking his brow to get him to focus on her.

John shook his head at Mycroft, telling his best friend’s brother that this was a very bad idea.  Giving Eurus actual access to Molly yet again might give the madwoman a clear shot at killing Molly this time.

Molly turned, looking directly at the glass, seeing Eurus in person for the first time.  Eurus smiled back, making Molly take a step back, grabbing Sherlock’s arm in the process.

“She’ll protect him. She loves him.”

“If you hurt her in any way, I will find a way to end you.  Do you understand?” John confidently stated to Eurus.

“Oh John Watson, you cannot protect her.”

John moved fast, but the five guards were faster, blocking his way to Eurus.

“John, back down,” Mycroft warned.

“He’ll protect her in the end. He loves her.”

Eurus laughed then, shackled hands dangling at her sides, moving back and forth with little effort.


	7. Help Me

Chapter Seven—Help Me

“Ok, ok. I get it. You sit there, staring at her. Not gonna help matters one bit.”

“I’m not staring.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

They’d had this argument at least five times in the last hour, or what seemed like an hour.  Time passed differently in his head.  It could speed up or slow down on a whim.

“She’s different. Delicate as a flower. Do not mess with her though.”

“I know very well not to mess with her.”

“Sherlock, Molly Hooper has your number.”

His flat was the same as it was before it was blown to smithereens.  Oh he hoped that it was done by now in the real world, but he doubted it since everyone who was helping him work on it was either under police protection or trying to bring him back from his self-imposed exile.

Mary sat exactly where John often sat, directly across from him in the chair.  A steaming cup of tea sat right beside her, biscuits at the ready. It was just like an ordinary morning in his flat, only it wasn’t ordinary.

“There is no number to be had.”

“She likes you.”

How many times had Mary attempted to set up Sherlock?  Mary often pointed out good qualities in women and sometimes even men to tell Sherlock that he could become involved in some kind of relationship.  He never took the bait.

“She despises me.”

“Have you asked her?”

“If she despises me?  Why on earth would she not?  I haven’t given her the least bit of encouragement.”

“Oh, boy. You are sadly mistaken. Flitting around her lab, swishing that coat, grinning at her.”

“Grinning at her?”

Sherlock burned his tongue a bit on his first sip of the hot tea by his side.

“When she’s not looking.  I’ve seen it.  She adores you.”

“Despises.”

“Adores.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing that Mary could keep this up for hours if he let her.

“If she indeed does adore me as you put it, why? I’m not the most agreeable creature on this planet, as you well know.”

“Agreeable?  Have you seen yourself in the mirror?  You’re a pompous ass.”

Sherlock scowled back at her assessment.

“Be that as it may, why do you keep trying to get me to notice the poor girl?”

“Oh Sherlock, she’s not a girl. She’s an accomplished woman who has bested you on so many occasions.”

Sherlock snorted back, putting his tea cup back down on his side table with a clink.

“Bested me? Well. I mean, no. She has not,” he stuttered out.

Mary laughed at his stumbling.  “You should go tell her how you feel.”

“Feel?”

“Wake up, Sherlock. You can’t hide in here forever.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You need to come back,” Eurus yelled in his ear.

Sherlock grabbed his chair with both hands.

“Remember who you are,” she whispered in the other ear.

The well looked deep and dark as he looked down.

“Sherlock,” a voice keened off in the distance.  “Help me.”

“I can’t,” Sherlock cried out, suddenly not in his favorite chair in his flat.

The grey skies hung heavy like a blanket around him, color washed out of everything in the distance.

“Help me,” the voice came again.  It was Victor. It had to be Victor.

“Help me, Sherlock,” the blonde woman said as she stood directly in front of him, bruises prominent, blood trickling out of her mouth.

“Help me, Sherlock,” Mary said as she clutched her chest, blood blossoming under her hand.

“Help me, Sherlock,” John said as he stood wrapped in explosives.

“Sherlock, take my hand.”

He expected to see Molly, standing in her flat, asking for help. Only she wasn’t.

“I’ve got you,” she said off in the distance. “What do you need?”

She stood directly in front of him, lab coat blowing in the cold breeze, hair pulled severely back the way she always wore it to keep it out of her way while she worked.

“Please,” he told her, reaching out but not touching.

“What do you need?” Molly asked again, hand almost touching his face.

“Sorry, baby brother. She can’t have you.”

Eurus. She’d somehow made her way into his dreams. The blade cut the artery in his neck, spraying blood all over Molly’s pristine white coat, until it was a deep red. Molly’s sad eyes stared back at him, one tear slipping finally down her cheek.

\---

“You’ll not hurt him again,” Molly said as she mouthed through the glass. 

Eurus’s hand came up and touched the glass, fingers spread wide.

“Save him,” Eurus said back.

Molly placed her hand directly onto her side of the glass, knowing that she might be making a deal with the devil. There was no other way though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as much interaction between Molly and Eurus as I would have liked. They drove the story this way. Maybe in another fic? Sorry for whumping on Sherlock so much. We never did get to see how he recovered from Eurus. And if he ever did remember what exactly happened.


	8. Never Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end.

Chapter Eight—Never Tell

“You know, mate, you need to go back.”

The man that stood before him was not familiar. Sherlock stood on a patch of land, air cold and foreboding.  The clouds above moved too fast for it to be real, but all around him, it felt more real than it had in weeks.

“Go back?”

“For them. For yourself.  This reality that you’ve created, it’s not good.  Just because you have to remember…”

“Stop. Stop this.”

The dirty blonde hair, the dark blue eyes. It shocked him that he remembered what it was like, what he was like. 

“I know what you did, what you needed to do to survive, but you can’t this time.”

Sherlock’s shock of recognition had him turning his head away, eyes closed tight.  As a child, he had constructed another timeline, one that made him forget much of what he was.  It shaped the rest of his life, what he had become. What if he hadn’t forgotten, hadn’t put it away behind lock and key? Would he be the same person he was now? Would he want to be something different than he was now?  He couldn’t go back to change what he’d done at six years old.

“Do you want justice?”

Sherlock’s head turned quickly, to look at the man that Victor could have become, if he hadn’t died in that well so many years ago.

“Certainly.”

A young girl at the top of a well, smiling down.  Sherlock saw her face, devoid of empathy apparent.

“You will never tell,” she said, eye flat and uncaring.

“Victor,” he screamed back, tears streaking down his small face.

“He is gone. I am here.”

Sherlock’s small body curled in on itself as she raised a stick to his legs. The lashes hurt. He cried out but the beating didn’t stop.

“Stop. You’re hurting me.”

“Never tell.”

“No. I have to do something.”

“Never tell.”

“Run, Sherlock,” Victor yelled. “Run.”

This was the adult version of what Victor could have been.  The little girl morphed into the adult Eurus, the stick becoming larger and more menacing.  But Sherlock stayed small.

“Eurus, no,” he screamed back, not stopping her forward progress.

“Never tell.”

\----

“I have to touch him.”

Mycroft moved swiftly, not wanting Eurus anywhere near his younger brother.  John could feel the anger and sorrow roll off the man in waves.  After concluding long ago that Mycroft was an automaton, John changed his attitude in that instant.  Eurus not only shaped Sherlock’s future, she ultimately re-formed the older man directly in front of him.

“You will not.”

“It’s ok, Mycroft. I’ve got him,” Molly declared.

Molly grasped Sherlock’s hand tight. What was encouraging was the fact that Sherlock was gripping hers back. He was in there somewhere, hiding, but hopefully not very far.

“I’ve got him too,” John heard in his ear, familiar lilt making him turn his head.

Mary.  He wondered when his hallucinations would go away. Apparently not yet.  It was a comfort sometimes, just to hear her voice inside his head. There was no way to chase away the guilt though. That would never disappear.

“Sherlock, do you remember the hill?”

Eurus’s voice was soft, steady.  Sherlock’s body jerked.

“The one behind the barn. You and Victor used to climb it, declare victory every single time. Do you remember it?”

Sherlock moaned, not opening his eyes.  Mycroft took another step forward, to place himself between Eurus and Sherlock’s prone body.

“Eurus, do not hurt him again.”

Eurus looked at Mycroft, then dismissed him with a sigh.

“You ran after him, that day. Remember? You didn’t know where I was, that I was in front of the two of you.  You lost sight of him, yelled for him to come back.

“No, Victor, no,” Sherlock’s voice called out. “Where are you?”

“You saw me, in the field.  You asked if I’d seen Victor. I said no. You searched for hours and hours.”

“You hit me. You hit me. Why?” Sherlock asked Eurus.

Eurus now stood at the foot of Sherlock’s bed, reaching out. John reacted, moving to make sure she couldn’t physically hurt him. 

“John, let her continue. I understand. Just let her do it.”

Molly had faith about whatever Eurus had planned. He certainly did not know where this was headed.

“To keep you away.”  Eurus turned her head to the side.  “You saw him, didn’t you? You remember.”

“He was already dead,” Sherlock cried out, gripping Molly’s hand harder.

“And what did I tell you? That it was your fault? That they’d take you away from Mummy and Daddy? I kept you quiet.”

“No, you have to understand. I, I didn’t know. Victor is down there, all alone. I have to help.”

Sherlock still hadn’t awoken, eyes closed tight.


	9. So Hard to Live

Chapter Nine—So Hard to Live

“I have to help.”

“It’s too late, dear brother. It’s too late.”

“Not this time.  It’s not too late,” Victor rang out in the distance. “It’s not too late this time.  Tell her it’s not too late.”

Sherlock knew in that instant that Victor was right. He could actually do some good this time, bring someone to justice for hurting not only himself, but many others, the woman who died right in front of him included.

“You may have thought it was too late last time, but not this time. I’ll not let it happen again.  This mad man needs to be put down.”

“Now, was that so hard, Sherlock?”

\----

“Now was that so hard, Sherlock?” Eurus voiced, backing away from the bed.

Sherlock gasped for breath, opening his eyes, seeing Mycroft, John and Molly surround him, like they were ready to defend him from Eurus. His body ached everywhere, his mind all jumbled and confused.  He remembered, he remembered it all. What happened in that field all those years ago with Eurus, what happened to him a mere few weeks prior all came rushing back. It hurt, it almost crushed his chest it was so hard to breathe in and out. A soft voice brought him out, made him look up and to the side.

“It’s alright, Sherlock,” Molly smiled. “We’re here.”

“You’re in danger,” he told her.

“Sherlock Holmes, to the rescue,” John chided him, gripping him on the shoulder. “Then get out of that bed, you git and save Molly Hooper.”

“Not likely. I can save myself, thank you very much,” Molly argued back.

Eurus stood at the edge of the room, face now devoid of anything that had just happened.  Mycroft nodded to the guards to take her away.

“I have to make sure,” Mycroft started, pointedly looking at John.

“We got him,” John reminded the older man.

“Indeed.”

“Did he just compliment you, John? What on earth has happened since I’ve been away?”

“Loads and loads,” John replied, happily looking down at his friend whose eyes were now open.

\----

“I remember it all,” Sherlock hesitated, but opened his mouth when he saw how intently Molly was looking at him.

“You’ve been talking with the therapist?”

“Yes, yes. All that,” Sherlock noted, flitting his hands every which way.   “It’s just…”

“Hard?”

“Not necessary.”

Molly sipped her tea, not taking her eyes off of Sherlock for a moment.

“You know way too much,” he chided Molly.

“You’d be surprised how much I know.”

“Ok, what am I thinking right now?”

Sherlock made sure he used his best know it all face.  It didn’t seem to faze her one bit.

“How much you would love it if I didn’t bring up therapists. The fact that you are eager to have every single person out of your almost done flat.”

A crash was heard off in the distance.  The flat was indeed almost done, just a few things here and there.

“And you want that last biscuit but wonder if you’re fast enough to get to it before I do.”

Before he could even think to grab it off the plate in front of them, Molly had it in her hands.

“Good,” she moaned, crumbs stuck to her lips.

Sherlock took his thumb and removed a piece of biscuit that had stuck to the corner of her mouth.  Both froze at the gesture, eyes not straying.

Molly had taken to visiting him every day, making sure all of his physical injuries healed nicely.  It had been months, but Sherlock needed the recovery time in addition to helping him with his flat. There was only so much John could do with taking care of Rosie and trying to earn a living. 

Lestrade had brought him many cases over the last few months to keep him busy, even if they were cold cases that no one had ever solved.  He’d even gotten leads on several of them.  Lestrade was very grateful for the help, even if it did cause more work for him in the end.

“I should probably go,” Molly suggested.

“Oh, oh, yes.  Oh, one more thing.  I went to visit Eurus yesterday.”

“Oh, and?”

“She actually communicated with me.  It’s been…”

“Months.”

“Yes, a long time. She said your name.”

“My name?”

Sherlock hadn’t meant to make Molly feel uncomfortable.

“Nothing else.  Just your name. And she smiled.”

It was almost like Eurus approved of Molly spending time with Sherlock.

“Is that good?”

“I would assume. She helped when you asked.”

“Maybe one day.”

“It’s unlikely.”

Sherlock looked away, trying to figure out how to actually have a conversation with Molly with everything that had happened in the last few months. 

“You can talk to me, you know.  I’ll not bite.”

Sherlock’s phone pinged as Molly moved a bit closer to him, taking one of his hands in hers. She’d done that several times. It seemed to calm him when he needed it the most.

What he read on his phone startled him at first. He never thought the police would be able to track him down, much less catch him.

“They caught him. Lestrade.  Text from Lestrade.”

He showed his phone to Molly so that she could see.

“That’s good. You can put this behind you now. I mean, after you testify.”

Mary smiled at him from where she stood at the fireplace across the room. Then she gestured for him to talk to Molly, who was actually there in the room and not a figment of his imagination.

“Yes. Wouldyouliketohavedinner?” he said at a fast clip.

“Dinner? As in food?”

“Um, yes,” he said as he narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s what one does, isn’t it?”

“I could eat. With you.”

Sherlock stood quickly and retrieved his coat from the back of the door. Handing Molly’s coat over, he stood and waited as she put it on.

“Where to?”

“Oh, oh. Means I actually have to pick a place.  Chips?  Or we could go to Angelo’s. He owes me yet again.”

“Whatever gets you to eat.”

Instead of heading out the door right at that moment, the two of them stood directly in front of each other, mere inches away. Sherlock watched as Molly bit her lip.  He had no idea what she was thinking, his mind was so blank at her gesture.

“Shall we go?” she asked as he stood there not moving.

“Possibly,” he stuttered out.

Before he could move to the door, Molly reached up and pulled his head down to hers, placing a gentle kiss directly on his lips.

“Lead the way,” he felt her say, breath hot on his face now.

“Yes, well, yes,” he managed to get out.  “One more thing?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Can we do that again some time?”

Molly laughed at his question.  “I’d like that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could continue this to show what happens between Molly and Sherlock, but I didn't, at least for now. Sherlock still has a long way to go in dealing with his sister and Molly. Not sure which one might be more difficult! Happy reading.


End file.
